He’d never forgotten that squirrel. Sometimes he pictured it in his mind, its eyes bulging. Sometimes he could still hear the chirping as it tried to warn others of the danger, its striking cinnamon fur ruffling in the wind and the tiny, pink sliver of tongue like a tender plant root. But worst of all was how the squirrel looked up at him with its mouth open, a hint of teeth showing and the fear in its eyes right before death took it. That incident made him question a lot of things. One of those things was God. What kind of God would allow such a thing to happen? It didn’t make any sense. But then not much made sense to him—especially things like rules and the behavior of his peers and supposed authority figures. There was always friction with the world no matter how hard he tried. In many ways, he sensed a stronger bond with the creatures of the woods than he did with people—except for the ones he was already close to.

Some would find that disturbing or introverted but for him that was reality. That was what he saw out of his own two eyes and felt with his own heart. Did he exhibit an underlying anxiety when near people? Maybe. But it’s not like he was a loner. He had friends, but quality over quantity. He sensed that pull, that bit of fear in many social situations— probably why he kept a core group of friends and didn’t venture often into new social territory.

What he did prefer was hiking in wilderness areas. There were trips with his ex-girlfriend Stacey to Glacier National Park in Montana and Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming. They’d go during spring break sometimes, when most kids went to sunny beaches. Less people, too, snow or not. He could hear himself think in the woods and mountains, could spread his arms and kick back.

Balance.

The country out in Montana was still wild. A twenty-thousand-acre wilderness area was nothing out there. You could find two-million acre wilderness complexes and spend years exploring. Back in the North-woods, back in the Ottawa you were amongst endless logging roads. Less than one percent of the old growth forest remained. Most of the big animals that had sauntered across the Northwoods were ghosts. But for some reason, this place still had such a strong feeling of home. He liked it. No, he loved it. All the little streams gleaming in the forest. The clumsy porcupines fumbling around in tree-tops and bald eagles swooping from hidden lake to hidden lake.